


where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart?

by Summertime_saddness



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Billy is a creep, Drinking, Episode Related, F/M, Feelings Realization, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Smoking, Unrequited Love, feelings are hard, sad Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 03:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summertime_saddness/pseuds/Summertime_saddness
Summary: There were some universal truths about the world that Steve just knew. The middle piece was the best brownie slice. Don’t wake his mother up while she was napping or the dinner wouldn’t taste as good. And not everyone in this world got to be loved. Some people just weren’t meant for it.





	where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from mumford and son's white blank page
> 
> Begins after Nancy tells Steve their relationship is bullshit at the party. Kind of jumps around from there. Lots of implied feelings.
> 
> I also somehow keep thinking Jonathon and Will's last name is Bryer and not Byers, so there's probably bunch of name fudges.

“Steve? Steve where’s Nancy?” 

Steve rolled his eyes, chugging the rest of the beer he had grabbed on his out and swallowing loudly. He crushed the red and blue can inside his fist, letting the quiet crunch reverberate against the bones of his fingers. 

“Damn, Byers,” Steve threw the can across the driveway, watching as the bottle hit the white siding of Jonathan's car. He smiled meanly. 

“What are you doing, spying on us?” Steve turned around, wiping at his mouth. The leftover beer slid against his pale skin. “What, no camera this time?”

Jonathan said nothing, shoving his hands inside of his pockets. One goddamned year later and Jonathon still reminded Steve of a stranger. Unknowable. 

“You seem upset.”

Steve scoffed loudly, leaning against the cold aluminum siding of the house. The rough ridges dug into the back of his jacket.

“No shit, Detective.”

There were flecks of Nancy’s spilled punch decorated across the front of his coat like bloody rain drops. He brushed at them sloppily. 

“Did you guys get into a fight?”

Steve slid down the wall until he hit the damp coolness of the grass. He ran a tired hand through the front of his hair. His long fingers came away sticky. 

“Yeah, we did.” He sighed, looking at Jonathon’s steady form. His hands were still in his pockets. “She’s just so...sad.” He shrugged slowly, “I don’t know how to help her.”

Jonathan turned his face away, watching the stream of teengers make the endless loop from inside to out, their bodies linked by hands or mouths. The smell of alcohol and body spray choked the crisp air. Steve watched Jonathan's face carefully.

“I thought you said you’d take care of her.” He kept his face turned away.

Steve choked out a laugh, glaring incredulously at Jonathan. 

“Wow,” he breathed out shakily, ignoring the moisture he could feel pooling under his eyes. 

Jonathan finally turned his gaze back to Steve’s, his eyes dark and probing. 

“And you think you could have done a better job?” Steve gasped out, fisting his hands against his eyes. His voice sounded strained. 

Jonathan blinked, before shaking his head, letting his overlong bangs fall across his face. 

He was quiet for so long that Steve wondered if he had left before he felt Jonathon take a seat next to him. Their shoulders bumped together. 

“I’m not sure.” Jonathan said quietly. “I’m not sure I’m good at making people happy.”

Steve glanced over at Jonathan, at the sharp stretch of skin over his cheek, at the faint bruising under his heavy lidded eyes.

“You don’t look so good either.” Steve said slowly. “How’s Will?”

Jonathan fidgeted, running his hands over the tops of his knees. 

“They say he’ll get worse before it gets better.”

“That’s bullshit,” Steve said, chuckling as he echoed Nancy’s drunken words to him.

“What?” Jonathan said, staring. His eyes looked black in the semi darkness.

“Nothing, nothing just - Nancy’s in the bathroom. First floor.” Steve met Jonathan's eyes steadily. “Do you think you could give her a ride home?” 

Jonathan watched Steve for a moment, a slight frown at his mouth. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Steve muttered, looking away. 

Jonathan didn’t answer. He rose gracefully from the lawn, shoving his hands into his coat pockets, the ever present frown fixed on his face. He hovered over Steve, a live action ghost who’s haunting schedule got jumbled.

He heard the crunch of Jonathan's feet turning and when Steve looked up again he was gone.

Across the lawn, one long muscular bare arm around a girl dressed up as a bunny, was Billy. His bright eyes watched Steve as he took a long pull of the drink in his hand. There’s something predatory about his gaze, animalistic, Steve shivered and looked away. 

Nancy was right. It was all bullshit.

 

There were some universal truths about the world that Steve just knew. The middle piece was the best brownie slice. Don’t wake his mother up while she was napping or the dinner wouldn’t taste as good. And not everyone in this world got to be loved. Some people just weren’t meant for it. 

Later, Steve watched Jonathon half cary Nancy across the lawn of Stacy’s house. His boot covered feet wavered gracefully through the over tuned cups of pink brown punch and shallow pools of vomit. Steve winced as he saw Nancy’s white shoe slide through a particularly thick puddle, her red splattered blouse stood out bright and angry as she stumbled along after Jonathan. ‘I’m the victim here.’ it seemed to shout. Steve tried to not let him bother him - he was used to being the bad guy. That was another truth Steve knew: Everyone had a role to play and everything was better if you stuck to it.

He was smoking a cigarette he had bummed off of someone in a cat costume, letting the grey smoke settle into his lungs, the steady burn of it numbing the growing ache he felt inside his chest. It was heavy, like the concrete he watched being poured into the rough indents on the sidewalk, the thick liquid hardening the cracks into something patchy but whole. He imagined it now - the creme colored paste filling him up, finding all the holes within his body, trying to slow the steady disintegration of his soul. Steve exhaled, felt his lungs work and then catch. A coughing fit had him doubled over, his pale hands gripped his knees as he spit yellow phlegm onto the ground. Fuck Halloween. 

“Having a rough night there, King Steve?”

Steve wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, spitting one more time onto the green brown grass. 

Billy stood a few feet away from him, his ever present smirk quirking along his mouth. His shirt was halfway open, and a sheen of sweat rose shiny and tight across his hairless chest. 

Steve ignored him, setting the cigarette back to his lips with shaking hands. He didn’t inhale this time. He felted unbound, like he was caught in a freefall, no hope of getting to the bottom anytime soon.

“Saw you and that Byers freak,” Billy said, voice a edge away from mocking. “Looked pretty gay to me. You guys sharing the same girl? That’s some freaky shit, Harrington.”

“Don’t you have some freshman girl to bother?” Steve bit out, turning to Billy angrily.

Billy laughed loudly before licking his lips slowly. His pink tongue left a slow trail of shiny saliva across mouth, suggestive. 

Steve made a face, turning away, as he heard Billy’s continued laugh behind him.

“I’m onto you Steve, don’t you know all kings have something to hide?”

 

Steve was good at many things. Convincing teachers to let him turn his homework in late, sports and manipulating the social hierarchy of high school. He was also pretty damn good at compartmentalizing. 

At night he dreamt about being caught in the upside down. The dark descriptions he’d heard from the Byers' filling his mind with all the nightmare fodder he needed. Always he was being hunted, he could feel the creatures cold, clammy fingers grabbing at his back, could smell its foul breath, choking him. Always, he’d look ahead to see Jonathan and Nancy a few yards away from him, speeding up as his own limbs slowed down.

“Wait!” He’d scream. 

But then he’d feel the creature’s hand close around his throat, grip tight and burning. He’d wake up sweating in his bed, the clammy feeling surrounding his skin like a membrane. 

In the morning he went to school. Smiled at his teachers, kissed Nancy against her locker, ate his green beans and went running after school. Everything was fine.

He loved Nancy in a way Steve hadn’t thought was possible. In a way he wasn’t even sure he deserved. It overwhelmed him. 

Like we’re in love.

He should’ve known it wouldn’t last. 

 

The winter after the monster was destroyed they had tried to be friends. Steve, Nancy, Jonathan. Friends wasn’t quite the word, but Steve didn’t know what else to call it. He had shown up at the Byers' with Nancy, bringing tupperwares of food for Joyce, colored pencils in bright colors for Will. They’d sit in the Byers backyard with Jonathon, watching the light change from afternoon to evening, talking about nothing. It was strange, but Steve liked the slow melody of Jonathan's voice, the relaxed smile that would play across Nancy’s face, how they’d look at him when spoke. He hadn’t know people could be like that.

Steve was an idiot. 

 

Steve was aware Nancy was in the basketball court before she said his name. He could feel her, a physical hook scraping against the raw heaviness inside of him. He’s surprised there’s not blood seeping from his pores. 

“Steve? Can I talk to you?”

He sees Billy’s sly smirk, feels his glistening eyes on him as he leaves the court with Nancy.

Of course Nancy didn’t remember. He wanted to yell at her, to scream. He understood now, he got those afternoons after school spent at the Byers house, the faraway look Nancy’s eyes got when they kissed. 

'You can’t have us both Nancy,' He wanted to say.

Didn't he know it. He left her alone in the alleyway. 

He starts finding notes in his locker. A black page with jagged torn edges, nothing on it but a pair of a hastily drawn eyes, the eyelashes dark and thick. I know your secrets, written on lined paper tucked in the space between his books and the locker door. 

He crumbles them up, stuffs the balls of hard paper into the bottom of his bag. Just another thing to try to forget about.

 

Steve is driving over to Nancy’s, red roses in the seat next to him, when a car speeds out in front of him, blocking his path. Steve quickly swerves, turning the wheel so hard he feels his wrist pop, the front of his car spinning wildly. He jolts to a stop on the side of the road, his heart an explosion of movement in his chest. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” Steve runs a hand along his face, trying to soothe his lungs back into a normal pattern. 

He looks in the mirror above his windshield and right into the smirking face of Billy. He’s standing next to his car, a slow steady stream of smoke rising from the cigarette pressed between his teeth. He waves at Steve slowly, letting his fingers curl in and out. 

“Shit,” Steve repeats, gripping the steering wheel, mind racing. 

“I didn’t scare you too much, did I?” Billy called out. His shirt was buttoned so low it was practically undone, his chest gleaming in the afternoon light.

Steve braced himself before opening the car door, pulling his long body free from the seat. His hands were shaking. He shoved them into the pockets of his jeans, inexplicably thought of Jonathan, and smiled. 

Billy grinned back. “Something funny, Steve?” His voice dropped low as he took a slow step forward. “I want to know what it is.” 

Steve frowned at him, chewing absently at his lower lip. 

“What I want to know is why you tried to kill me back there, you deranged asshole.”

Billy shakes his head, taking another slow step towards Steve. His steel toed boots crunched heavily against the leaves on the ground.

“Now, Steve, I was just trying to get your attention.” 

“My attention?” Steve laughed incredulously. “You’re insane you know that?”

“Haven’t you been getting my notes?”

Steve shook his head. He noticed for the first time that there were in the middle of the road that stretched around the fields that let into the woods, there wasn’t another person in sight. He shifted uneasily. 

“I don’t have time for this.” He turned away, walking back to his car with deliberate steps.

“Off to meet Jonathan?” 

Steve flipped back around without thinking, hand raised accusatorily towards Billy. “What is your problem? Do YOU have something for Bryer?”

Billy’s smile stretched across his face, his eyes dancing mischievously in his tanned face. 

“Nah, he’s not really my type,” He drawled out, “You on the other hand…”

Steve froze. His entire body felt cold and then instantly hot, he could feel sweat beginning to pool at the base of his spine above his jeans.

“I - I’ve got to go.” He muttered. His hands didn’t stop shaking until he was back in his car, his heart only slowing down when the engine started, and he drove his way back to the road. 

The whole time, Billy stood watching him. His face triumphant. 

 

Steve and Jonathan spoke sometimes. They weren’t friends but they had almost died together, had fought off a monster from hell together, they obviously loved the same girl. Steve didn’t like to think about the last part, but Nancy was like golden glow of the sun and Steve didn’t think anyone could resist her warmth. He couldn’t fault Jonathan for that.

They’d run into each other places. Like the grocery store and the pharmacy. They’d sit by their cars, scarves pulled up high around their faces to ward off the spring chill. They’d talk about Will, about Nancy and her survivor’s guilt, about Hawkins. It was only a for a few minutes but Steve would sometimes pull into the shop when he saw Jonathan's car in the front. He didn’t think too much about why.

 

Steve forgot about Billy because suddenly, the Demogorgon was back. Not just one, but several. And there suddenly was a portal to close, and Nancy and Jonathan were together, maybe. Left him behind, the cold membrane of rejection descended around him like a waking nightmare. He played it cool though. Steve could compartmentalize. 

“You should go with him.” He tells Nancy. Because he’s spent a lot of time studying their faces, knows the look that Jonathan has when he’s a few feet from panicking. The look Nancy gets when she wants something she thinks she can’t have.

“Steve...” She begins.

He smiles. “It’s ok, Nance.” Somehow it is.

So when Billy shows up at the Bryer house and proceeds to beat the shit out of him, Steve wonders if it’s because he’s not playing his role correctly. Somehow the universe is punishing him for rejecting the status quo. 

But when Steve’s doorbell rings, a week after Eleven closes the portal, it’s Jonathan and Nancy. They have board games, tupperware of soft foods for his jaw, Nancy has his prescription refill for the painkillers for his broken face. They sit in the field behind his house, it’s too cold, but they bring out the old blankets that Steve’s grandmother used to make. 

“So what, now?” Steve asks around the yellow and green swell of his bruised mouth.

Jonathan shrugs and hands Steve some of the cornbread Nancy had made.

“I don’t know, I guess figure out together how to plan for what comes next.” Nancy said, wrapping her thin arms around her legs. “This can’t be over, you know.” 

Steve’s hands are shaking when he takes the bread from Jonathan's hand, feels the gentle roughness of his fingertips brush against his own. If Jonathan notices he doesn’t say anything but Steve catches the gentle curve of his smile.

Maybe, Steve thinks, some of his universal truths were bullshit.

**Author's Note:**

> Billy comes on to Steve in creepy ways, he's a terrible person. I imagine that at the end they go get their revenge on him somehow. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
